


Rising Tide

by NETHERW4RT



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Lifeguards, Alternate Universe - Surfers, Beaches, Developing Relationship, First Dates, Flirting, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pet Names, Picnics, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Teasing, but its still ehhh so rated t, dream is a surfer and george is a lifeguard, i dont really know how to describe the vibe of this one after the first half, idfk what to tag, its actually not that focused around that tho? i mean it is but also isnt, surprisingly there is no swearing, the duality of man?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27601874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/pseuds/NETHERW4RT
Summary: In the calm before the storm, it’s best to shut your eyes and brace for what’s to come.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 409





	1. Whirlpool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alienu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alienu/gifts).



> here, take it ali, i’m at my wits end. i looped dragostea din tei for a collective total of around 8 hours while writing this. 
> 
> anyway u wanna follow me on twitter @NETHERW4RT so bad :flushed:

The cool ocean breeze rolls over the curves of Dream’s face as he leans against the longboard stuck between grains of sand; it smells faintly of fried dough, mixing in the wafts of seaweed and wildlife inhabiting the area. The waves lap at the shore, rising higher with every gust sent following their direction. He shifts his weight from the balls of his feet and lets out a long, low hum. They aren’t particularly extravagant waves, much to his displeasure, but he would still make the most out of what Mother Nature is giving him.

The first few steps burn beneath his feet, the sand radiating warmth from the blazing sun. Children across the horizon scream and giggle with glee as they chase their friends around; Dream smiles, sliding the longboard under his arm, reminiscing the days of his own childhood. He remembers the vanilla ice cream and salty oceans waves like it was yesterday.

He reaches the dividing line between solid ground and vast waters and slides his longboard down, following himself down in a similar way until his chest was pressing neatly against the cool material. He wades outward, chasing the few waves he gets, and steps up when he finds a large enough one to ride out; it’s just barely enough to keep him upright without succumbing to the bright blue and shimmers of gold below him, but the breeze and rush of adrenaline, no matter how small, convinces him to enjoy it nonetheless.

The waves carry him back to the shoreline and Dream paddles himself out far enough to catch another ride; he continues until the sun stretches pink and orange streaks across the sky and the waves have died down with the sunset. The sand is cooler now, though still merciless with heat, and the ocean breeze is stronger. He brushes a hand through his hair, tucking stray locks behind his ears so that the wind could no longer torture him with their reckless freedom. 

“Is it fun when the waves are this small?”

Dream turns over his own shoulder, trailing the sound of the unfamiliar voice with his eyes. His gaze falls on a man dressed in precariously loose swim shorts, likely only held in place by the satchel fitted around his waist, and a red visor that stood out against the plain white t-shirt that had “lifeguard” in similarly bright red font; by the looks of it, he had just been on watch beforehand.

“It is,” Dream replies, picking up his stray water bottle from the burning cement; thankfully the contents hadn’t warmed too much yet. He takes in the features of the stranger, noting large brown eyes and pale lips; his skin was much less than tan, and Dream deduces that he’s probably a new hire. Though he also deduces that the man is cute—almost unbearably so. His lips quirk upwards into a sly grin. “Have fun watching me?”

The blond delights in the way the man’s cheeks turn slightly rosy under the dim light of the setting sun. He sputters, fingers tightening around his bicep. “No, I—um—I just,” he trails off, at a loss for words, and his cheeks darken with growing embarrassment.

“Aw, how cute,” Dream coos, tangling in the amusement of the situation. “No need to explain yourself, darling, I know I’m eye candy for everyone around here.” He winks and swears he could be watching the stranger melt in the Floridian heat judging by how red his face was getting; had he not been actively flirting with him, Dream would’ve assumed he was simply getting major sunburn. 

“This is so _embarrassing_ ,” the man mutters to himself, and Dream lets him off without a comment on that one. “Don’t tell me you just flirt with anyone who comes up to you like this.”

“What do you want me to say?” Dream presses, leaning a little closer. The man’s eyes flicker with something unintelligible and he can feel his ego blooming larger in his chest. “No, though, I don’t. I did say you’re cute, didn’t I? I’ll say it again if I need to.”

“You— _yes_ , you already did.” The stranger seems exasperated now, though he’s making no moves to leave. The wind rustles the surrounding palm trees and Dream watches him shiver into himself.

“What’s your name?”

“What?”

Dream chuckles, digging the bottom end of his longboard into the sand to lean his arm against the top end. “Your name,” he repeats, “what is it?”

“Oh,” the man says dumbly. “George—I’m George.”

“What a pretty name,” Dream smiles, “George.”

Ignoring the rush of red to his cheeks, George crosses his arms over each other. The sun dips beyond the horizon behind him, dark colors reaching and overtaking the last speckles of brighter hues; most of the people across the beach have already filtered out, a few individuals now packing up their belongings, similarly to what Dream had been doing.

“What’s your name then?”

Dream glances between the painting of a sky above him and then back down to George’s glowing features. “Dream,” he responds.

“ _Dream_?” George echoes in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“It’s my nickname,” Dream clarifies, “but maybe I’ll tell you my real name sometime. That is, if you’re up for it?”

George gapes for a moment, then quickly shuts his mouth. “Are you—are you _asking me out_?”

“Is that not what you came over to me for?” Dream raises a skeptical eyebrow, inhaling another salty breath; he glides his tongue over his lips and faintly registers the taste of the ocean.

“It,” George’s knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping his forearms; Dream grins at him, unwavering, “it _is_ , sort of.”

“Sort of?”

The brunet shakes his head, then leans back on the heels of his feet. “Never mind. Are you going to give me your number or what?”

Dream blinks, a little surprised by the sudden forward ness, but not disliking it. “Of course, sweetheart,” he teases, reaching to the small concrete wall again. He shuffles through the slumping bag before plucking out his phone from the bottom and clicking it on; George waits patiently, though he’s rocking back and forth on his feet. Dream admits to himself that even that happens to be cute. “Here,” he says, holding out his phone for George to input the number in his own and then hand it back.

“Thank you,” George says, much too formally for Dream’s liking. He pauses a moment, hiding behind the frame of his own phone as it taps against the end of his nose. Then, “are you free this Friday?”

“I am,” Dream says, almost sounding smug. George brushes it off.

“Would you like to have a picnic? Here, on the beach.”

Dream turns, tugging the drawstrings on his bag to shut it after he put his phone back, pulling it over his shoulder. “What would I need to bring?” He asks, maneuvering his longboard out of the sand.

“Anything,” George says. “I’ll bring food and a blanket, so it’s no problem if you don’t.”

“That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, now would it?”

“You don’t quite look the gentlemanly part.”

Dream frowns, though it’s gone as soon as it arrives when he sees how wide George’s smile is, playful and loving. It’s strange, the feeling bubbling inside of his chest. “I happen to be the most gentlemanly gentleman you’ll ever meet, George.”

“Really? I don’t believe it,” George quips.

“Want me to prove it to you?”

“I do.”

Dream hums, his shoulders rolling back. “It’s a date then.”

Friday comes faster than Dream realizes, and once again he is standing on the beach, toes between the sand and a breeze rushing through his hair. Everything is familiar, from the smell of the ocean to the summer haze; the only difference is that instead of being here to ride the waves and feel the rush of the water and the air against his skin, he’s here on a date.

He spots George not too far from the entrance, lying back on a blue blanket strewn across the sand with a picnic basket sitting beside his torso. In the light of the sun, Dream thinks he would be an amazing mirror with skin as pale as his, especially in Orlando of all places.

“You like blue?” He asks as he approaches, kneeling down on the blanket beside George. The brunet gasps quietly and sits up, meeting Dream’s gaze.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up,” George says. “But yes, I do. It’s one of the only colors I can see.”

“You’re colorblind?”

“Red-green colorblind,” George adds, nodding. He smiles and begins to pull out neatly made sandwiches and snacks from the basket; Dream starts to feel a little self conscious, only having brought a few cans of soda and some chips. “How long have you been surfing?”

Dream blinks—the question is rather abrupt, but he hums and answers nonetheless, “Since high school. I’ve always loved the beach and the first time I ever rode the waves I knew it was something I wanted to do forever.”

George looks at him in awe, eyes shimmering in childish wonder. It’s as if Dream is something out of a fantasy book and it causes a low chuckle to rip from his throat. “Don’t laugh,” the brunet says quickly, “it’s really amazing that you have something you love.”

“I take it you don’t?”

“No,” George frowns, “not yet. I’ve tried things—lots of them—but nothing clicked.”

“So lifeguarding?” Dream quirks an eyebrow and watches George shift. The clouds in the sky carry onward through the breeze.

“The money is decent enough.”

“Ah, so that’s it.” Dream flashes a grin and immediately George is turning red again. “I’m sure it’s nice getting to watch all the hot guys and girls frolic around, hm?”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” George whispers, “that’s not it at all.”

“Then I’m the exception?”

“You’re terrible,” but George’s voice is flowing in a way that Dream can tell is opposite to his words. Dream laughs and soon after George is giggling into the back of his wrist as well.

Before their food is ruined by the Floridian sun, Dream cracks open a can of soda and takes a swig. It bites the back of his throat as it goes down, but Dream can only describe it as nothing less than refreshing. The sandwiches—simply made—follow nicely to the fizz. He steals a few glances in George’s direction, soaking in how he looks; calm, content, smiling ever so slightly as he bites into the white rye.

Though the beach is louder at this time of day, with patrons swarming the shoreline, Dream feels satisfied. The waves crash against the sand crystal clear in his ears and the breeze washes sheets of warmth from the top of his skin; the silence hanging between him and George is tolerable, if not comfortable. He breaks it after a long moment, finger tracing the rim of the can set carefully beside him. “I hope you’ve coated yourself in sunscreen. A body like yours burns easily, doesn’t it?”

“A body like mine,” George sputters awkwardly, glancing down at his arms and legs. It’s true, he’s much more pale than Dream is; hesitantly, he holds out his arm. “To compare,” he clarifies, then adds, “and yes, I did.”

Dream chuckles and presses the side of his arm to George’s. George’s nose crinkles at the drastic difference between them, his ghostly white skin stark beside Dream’s glazed tan. His arm tingles where it’s still pressed against George and he leaves it up to the brunet to pull away first, which doesn’t take too long—not long enough, perhaps.

“It’s a wonder people can even see me, I suppose.”

“With skin so pale? I bet you’re a vampire,” Dream coos.

George scoffs and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Are you saying you’d let me suck your blood?”

“How scandalous, George.” Dream leans back against the blanket, elbows digging down into the sand below the fabric. “Is that supposed to be some kind of bad innuendo?”

The brunet’s eyes widen and his cheeks burn red. “ _No_! Oh my god, no! Dream, you—you’re _awful_ ,” he chokes out, tripping over his own tongue a few times.

“Yet you’re still here,” Dream notes, raising a hand to trace patterns over the passing clouds in the sky; a cat, a vague face, a star, or a tree.

“What of it?”

“You like me.”

George winces. “I do _not_.”

“So you just spend nice beachside picnics with people you don’t like?” Dream asks.

“Maybe,” George responds, shutting his eyes as another cool gust of wind passes over his face. “Will you tell me your real name now?”

Dream hums, letting his arm fall down to his side once more. His elbows give beneath him and he presses flat on his back, eyes still wandering between the passing clouds. His skin is warm and the sun is bright; he would drift off then and there if he could, George’s voice ringing soft in his head. “Is Dream not good enough for you?”

“Dream is wonderful,” George says quietly, “but you’re hiding behind that, aren’t you?”

“You’re a lifeguard,” Dream says, firmer than he intended; he feels something peel back inside him, a fragility and vulnerability he hasn’t felt in years. “You’re supposed to keep me afloat, not help me drown.”

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean,” but he was cut short when Dream sat back up again, staring at him with dark green eyes that storms could form in. 

“I think I like you, George,” the blond says, low and raw. His gaze does not waver, not even while reaching out to grasp George by his biceps. “There’s something about you—you’re... _you’re_ _captivating_.”

George stares back, torrents swirling in the back of his mind. “You _want_ to drown?” He asks in a whisper, lips trembling with uncertainty.

Dream nods, leaning closer. “In you.”


	2. Ocean Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) there is now a part 2!!!  
> apologies if it’s not as good as it could be

Dream wakes up tangled in an unfamiliar bedspread. The ceiling fan whirs monotonously above him, sweat sticking to his skin as he shifts to the side.

“Clay?” A quiet voice calls out to him against the still room, and he faintly registers it as familiar. It takes him a moment to place it before he sits upright and stares into the doorway across from him.

“George?”

“Oh, did I wake you?” George is leaning against the frame, shirt hanging too low across his shoulders. His collarbone peeks out from below the plain white fabric and Dream bites at his lip. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dream mumbles, “I woke up on my own.”

George nods and moves closer, sitting at the edge of the bed near Dream’s thighs. He leans over, palm flat against the mattress on the other side of Dream’s hips. “Can I kiss you?”

Dream’s breath hitches and he nods. Without another word, George presses his lips down against the blond’s; it’s warm and inviting and tastes like home. Dream notices that he’s smiling like an idiot as he pulls back, hand catching Dream’s along the way.

A wave of hazy memories floods its way into his mind, of kissing and embracing. Dream bites back an inhale, the uncharacteristic activities of himself sending a shiver down his spine; he had never been one for messing around, even as much as he flirted. And certainly not just after a first date.

“What are we?” George asks suddenly, eyes shimmering with something that Dream could only describe as wonder, whether that was accurate or not.

“What are…?” Dream pauses and trails off, leaning his elbows forward against his knees. He says, “Whatever you want us to be, George.”

George leans back in time with Dream and hums thoughtfully. “I think I’d like to take you out again first.”

“Oh, so _you’re_ the one taking _me_ out?”

“Is that not what this is? I mean, I _did_ set up most of the picnic yesterday.”

Dream scoffs playfully. “Fine, you’re right. But let me take you out this time.”

“You gonna teach me how to surf?” George teases, but something lights up inside the blond and he smirks.

“Actually, I am.”

“Oh.”  
  


Firstly, the water is cold; it’s too early for there to be many people lining the shore, the sun just barely beginning to stretch across the top of the horizon.

“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever had to wear in my life,” George grumbles, peeling the tight wetsuit from his arm only for it to be snapped back in place when he lets go. “You’re lucky I had another day off.”

“Oh, am I?” Dream chuckles, setting his board beside George as he pulls his hair up into a small ponytail. “Maybe _you’re_ the lucky one, Georgie,” he quips, “getting to learn from one of the best.”

“One of the best,” George repeats, almost mockingly, but his cheeks are burning red. The sun is no excuse this time, still pushing past early-morning clouds.

“You look good.”

“God, _shut up_.”

“Don’t like it when I compliment you, huh?”

George squints past the rays of sunlight reflecting off Dream’s golden hair and ignores the heat in his cheeks. “I don’t _dislike_ it,” he grumbles, “but it’s distracting. Sort of. Whatever.”

Dream hums and plucks his longboard from the sand again, making his way into the water after gesturing for George to follow. He does.

“Lie on your stomach on the board,” the blond instructs, hopping onto his own board as a visual. “Then paddle with your hands.”

“Uh, like this?” George mimics Dream’s movements and presses himself flat against the board; the slick of his suit feels worse now that he’s all wet, but he does his best to ignore it.

“Good! Can you follow me out?”

“I’ll try.”

Truthfully, he does try—tries his damn best, but most of the morning is spent with George falling uselessly into the salty water every time a wave comes their direction. By the time people begin to filter onto the beach and the sun reaches higher than the clouds, George notes that his arms are sore and his lungs feel like they’re on fire from how much ocean water he ends up inhaling. 

He has to resist the urge to collapse right onto the sand the moment they wade back to shore, instead opting to lean against Dream’s arm; he doesn’t mind one bit, but still George worries he’s bothering.

“Tired?” Dream asks, pulling his hair down now. He’s considerably drier than George, much to the latter’s dismay, and the water is mostly glowing on his tan skin. George thinks he probably looks something akin to a sea monster next to Dream.

“Yeah,” George says, “extremely. How do you do that? It’s exhausting.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice, remember? I hope it wasn’t too hard on you, though.”

“No, no, don’t worry.” George smiles—it’s genuine and he finds himself gazing upwards at Dream’s face. Dream is smiling back. “I had fun.”

“Then I’m glad.” His voice is quieter now, leaning in as if he’s about to kiss him—it never comes. Dream leans back, rubbing lightly at his shoulder with the opposite arm. His lips are pressed together as if he’s thinking about something and George finds it just as beautiful as the rest of him.

“Are we dating now? Like, actually?” George blurts, his face bursting into dark red when he realizes that his throat betrayed him. He almost slaps a hand over his mouth until Dream starts to laugh, the sound delightful to George’s ears.

Dream calms down after a moment and lightly wipes budding tears from his eyes. “Are we? This is a date, isn’t it?”

“It _is_ ,” the brunet says after a second, “but does that mean we’re dating?”

“If you want us to be.”

George inhales, his fists tightening. “I do.”

Dream smirks and reaches up, tucking a wet strand of hair behind George’s ear. The action causes George’s breath to hitch; Dream is practically ethereal, especially when the midday sunlight wraps around his figure like he’s descending straight from the sky itself. “Then we are,” he says.

Relief washes over George and he smiles wider, jaw hurting from how hard he was grinning. It’s something Dream is definitely going to tease him for, now or later, but he doesn’t care. “Good. I’d like that.”

“Would you?”

“I would, quite a lot.”

Dream wraps an arm around George’s shoulder, pulling him the slightest bit closer. Then, he kisses him, quick and chaste, as if it’s their first.

George’s skin burns red hot, but not because of the sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> poggers !


End file.
